Transference
by BlackEyedGirl
Summary: The bruise around his wrist was a faded yellowgreen, and there was a roughness to it that suggested a burn. House looked at him. ‘New girlfriend? Which one of you should I be sending the leather stethoscope to?’ HouseChase slash. Chs 7 to 9 NEW. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: Transference  
Pairing: House/Chase slash eventually  
Rating and WARNING: R for violence and abusive relationship, but not extremely explicit.  
Genre: Angst/Drama  
Length: WIP, I imagine about seven parts.  
Disclaimer: House and all its characters are, sadly, not mine.  
Summary: _"The bruise around his wrist was a faded yellow/green, and there was a roughness to it that suggested a burn.  
House looked at him. 'New girlfriend? Which one of you should I be sending the leather stethoscope to?'"_

AN: This will be finished, I promise, because its mostly plotted and about half-written, but I wanted some feedback as the subject matter was worrying me a bit.

* * *

House looked him up and down. 'Take off your shirt, Chase.' 

- - - - - -

_Three months earlier_

Chase had been crying all day. Oh - not out loud, not even actual tears as far as House could tell. But his eyes were bright, and there was an agony in them that he couldn't hide behind the brittle look of contempt.

The contempt, real or not, was all directed at House and his none-too-subtle attempts to figure out what was wrong with Chase. House always felt that, perhaps by some kind of osmosis, knowledge should be in a continual flow in his direction. And Chase was not normally difficult to break.

In the event, it only took until late afternoon. It was their five pm whiteboard – of the "the patient was stable but now he's getting worse again" variety. House was bored, and they were getting nowhere with the patient, so he went back to prodding Chase, a little harder this time.

Chase looked down, his shoulders shaking a little. He cried three pained sobs, and then rubbed at his eyes once with his fist. When he looked back at House, with Cameron and Foreman watching in shock, the mask was back.

He met House's eyes, and this time the contempt was genuine. 'I'm taking a week's leave to organise my father's funeral.'

- - - - - - - -

'Are you out of your mind?'

- - - - - - - -

_Two months and three weeks earlier_

Chase, true to his word, had taken exactly one week to organise the funeral. He had returned to the states, told Cuddy that he didn't want any compassionate leave, and started back at work.

House watched him.

He watched as Chase shrugged off the compassion that Cameron offered, and even the grudging concern offered by Foreman. Watched as Chase went back to his job, quieter than before, but no more emotional. No fits of tears, sudden lapses of attention, not even any inappropriate anger. It was all very disappointing.

And all the time House watched as Chase failed, completely and utterly, to break down.

- - - - - - - -

'Take it off, Chase, or I'll do it for you.'

The slightest flicker of fear.

- - - - - - - -

_Two months earlier_

It wasn't much. Chase reached for a patient's file across the table, and his lab-coat rode up his arm. The bruise around his wrist was a faded yellow/green, and there was a roughness to it that suggested a burn.

House looked at him. 'New girlfriend? Which one of you should I be sending the leather stethoscope to?'

Chase didn't blush, which gave House a moment's pause. Then Chase hurriedly pushed the sleeve back down, and started reading from the file. House put the bruise to the back of his mind as he made the connection between Chase's pointed reading of the childhood allergies, and the blood his patient was currently spitting everywhere.

- - - - - - - - -

'That's sexual harassment.'

'No, sexual harassment is when I leer at your ass and call you pretty.'

- - - - - - - - -

_One month earlier_

'Taking personal calls during office hours?' House tutted.

'I'm on my lunch,' Chase shot back as he left the room.

House shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation being held just outside the door. If Chase didn't have the sense to move further away, then why should House reward his idiocy by not listening? The boy needed to learn these things.

'I'm sorry... I know I said I'd be home early, but House... he's my boss, Tom! And he's not... I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Look, I'll be home as soon as I can... there's pasta in the freezer... or you could order takeout... There's money sitting beside the... So we're okay now, yeah? I'll see you tonight...' Chase hung up the phone, his breath coming shakily as he came back into the room.

House tried to look innocent. 'Problems?'

'No problems,' Chase assured him. 'Since when do you care anyway?'

'Good point.'

- - - - - - - - -

'You do all that!'

'I never said that I _don't_ sexually harass you,' House answered mockingly. 'I just said that this wasn't it. Right now I don't care how cute your ass is. Shirt off.'

_- - - - - - - - - -_

_One hour earlier_

They were staying late again. When House had refused to let them leave, Cameron and Foreman had protested loudly, and then sighed in resignation. Chase had taken on a strange expression, but said nothing. House gave them five minutes to get coffee, and Chase left the room, dialling the phone even as he walked out the door.

It was eleven now, and one of the nurses peered in through the door. 'Dr Chase? There's a man asking for you in reception. A Tom Woods? He says he's your...' she hesitated for the briefest of moments, '...partner.' There was a question in how she said it, but Chase didn't notice.

He jumped up, muttered 'I'll be back in a minute,' and flew out of the room.

House looked at the space where his intensevist had been with disbelief. 'Where _have_ his manners gone?'

'Maybe it's just urgent?' Cameron offered, placating as always.

'More urgent than Mr...'

'Goodman?' Foreman filled in.

'That's the one. Unless someone is dying faster than poor Mr Goodman, Chase had better have a damn good reason for trying to leave early. I better investigate.'

'It isn't leaving early when it's practically midnight,' Foreman called, but House was already halfway out the door.

At reception Chase was standing in front of a virtual man-mountain. Tom, assuming this was him, must have been six foot seven, and had either been a linebacker or the Incredible Hulk as a teenager. Chase, who never looked particularly threatening, was dwarfed by him.

The general impression wasn't helped much by the way Chase slumped his shoulders, and how Tom leant over him – too close for casual and too looming for affection. Chase reached up and placed his hand on the taller man's arm.

House was just close enough to hear them now.

'I said that I was sorry.'

'You don't look sorry.'

'I am. But our patient went critical and House...'

'It's always fucking _House_ with you, Rob. That how you get them to pay you those big cheques? Giving the old man a little extra on the side?'

'Tom!' Chase hissed. 'You're drunk, and you don't mean... he's my boss! I need to go back to work now, okay? I promise I'll be home early tomorrow.'

Chase turned to leave, and Tom grabbed his shoulder. House watched as the restraint was tightened, fingers digging into the slim shoulders hard enough to bruise. 'Don't you _dare_ walk away like that.'

'Tom, please.' Chase tried to pull away from the strong grip. 'I need to _work_ here. Please don't make a...'

'Scene?' Both men looked down in surprise at the cane which had been inserted between them.

'Dr House,' Chase said, startled.

House ignored Chase for the moment. He looked at Tom. 'I believe you have my intensivist. I need him back now.'

'He isn't _your_ anything, doc.'

'I think you'll find that during work hours, he is. Look, I promise I'll give him back in perfect working order. Go home and make your own fun for a while.'

Tom face went dark with anger, and with no further argument or provocation, he swung an arm at House. It wasn't particularly hard or well-aimed, more a drunken swing, but it was enough to knock him over.

Chase straightened up and placed himself firmly in between the two of them. 'Get away from him!'

'Defending your boyfriend?'

'I'm defending _my boyfriend_ from being tossed out by security or the police,' Chase corrected. 'Look, just go home, okay? You've got the key. I'll be back soon.' He walked closer to Tom, leaning in to whisper with a coy smile, 'I promise I'll make it worth your while.'

House shook his head a little to verify that he had just heard something so blatantly porn-star-esque come out of Chase's mouth.

Tom smirked. 'Okay then.' He turned Chase's head with aggressive hands, and pulled him in for a kiss. The fingers in his Chase's hair were pulling hard enough that he winced as they broke off, before forcing a smile.

When Tom left, Chase offered a hand to his boss. 'Sorry. He was upset that I couldn't get home.'

'Ya think?'

'Sorry,' he repeated. Another forced smile.

- - - - - - - - - - -

'You can't order me to strip for you,' Chase protested.

'Are you sure about that? I'm your boss after all.'

'There's a limit to what you can...'

'Just like there's a limit to what your boyfriend can do?'

'House...'

_- - - - - - - - - -- - -_

_Thirty minutes earlier_

'He hit you? Didn't the nurses call anyone?' Wilson asked curiously.

'Apparently,' House drawled sarcastically, 'this is not the first time I have so enraged a patient or patient's relative so as to warrant being punched.

Wilson nodded and conceded the point. 'Still... surely it was pretty obvious he wasn't with a patient?'

'You're missing the point here, Jimmy.'

'Which is...?'

'Chase.'

'I'm sorry, it didn't occur to me that the point wasn't about you.'

'I'll have you know I am the very model of the concerned boss.'

'Sure. So you think it was more than just an argument?'

'I think if it had been Cameron there with a large drunk man clawing at her shoulder, security would have tossed the guy out. And it wasn't just... He just stood there letting it happen. Until the guy hit me, whereupon Chase suddenly develops a backbone. It was like watching someone be menaced by a puppy. Or a baby rabbit.'

'Are you done with the small animal analogies yet?'

'Hmm...yes. So...?'

'You want advice now?'

'I felt that was implied.'

'Are you going to listen?'

'I make no promises.'

'I think Chase has a problem. And unless you intend to just watch it happen, something I'm not ruling out, you're going to have to talk to him.'

- - - - - - - - - -

'Take off your shirt, Chase.'

* * *

FIN. Feedback is much adored 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: All the lovely reviews were a) most unexpected, and b) most welcomed. Thank you all so much! And, the answer to many of the questions, fairly obviously, is yes - I am going on! There are maybe 10 chapters, and I have it plotted and part written, so don't worry about it being left a WIP. Enjoy this part, and do review please

WARNING: Descriptions of the aftermath of violence and sexual assault

* * *

Whatever he had been expecting, this was worse.

The rope burns he had seen before, but not so bloody, nor so vivid against the pale skin. He had been right about the fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. Chase's arms and shoulders had livid purple finger-marks up them, running up to bloody scratches on the backs of his shoulders.

House walked around Chase slowly. The intensivist had closed his eyes, perched nervously on the exam-room table with his shirt pooled around him.

Another red-purple mark on his stomach, with green-yellow cousins around it indicating that this was not an isolated incident.

A line of a healing wound, stitches neat and tight, even when performed on his own chest. Not a knife-wound, probably a broken glass.

'Pants,' he instructed quietly.

Chase didn't even protest this time. Just kept his eyes shut as he kicked off the shoes and unzipped his trousers.

House swallowed a noise when he saw the state of Chase's legs and hips. More rope-burns. More finger-marks – dark bruises on his hips painting a clearer picture even than saying the words. _Assault. Rape._

He pushed at Chase's legs to force him to spread them. The look on Chase's face was miserable, more openly unhappy than he had been with his eyes open.

House catalogued the puckered burn on Chase's thigh in the midst of the other bruising. Could have been a drunken "forgot I still had the cigarette in my mouth" – it did look to be the only one. He didn't feel confident enough to bet on it. There really was no reason why that one red circle shocked him more than any of the other marks, but it did. Perhaps it was the knowledge that for that, Chase would have had to be lying still on the bed, letting him do it. Any of the others, he could have been fighting back, but for that one...

'Get dressed,' he said finally. When Chase was buttoning his shirt, House spoke again, 'Did it work?'

'What?' Eyes open now. Painted-on defiance.

'Whatever you thought you would get out of this. Did you get it?'

'It's not what you think.'

'So your "boyfriend" _isn't_ beating you into a bloody pulp?'

'No.'

'The problem with that statement is those darned marks all over you!'

'It's none of your business.'

'He hit me!' House replied, a little petulantly.

'I apologised for that. It won't happen again.'

'I would feel a little more reassured if I thought that the _reason_ it wouldn't happen again was that you were going to stop seeing him.'

'You're the one who was talking about leather stethoscopes. You can't say you're honestly surprised?' Chase sneered, but it was hard to tell who the disgust was aimed at.

'Chase, not that I'm one to interfere in your personal life,' A slight snort from Chase, good to know that he was still in there somewhere, 'but you do understand that there is a difference between what we were talking about, and what he's doing? A safe-word for one thing! Or is he just deaf?'

'You don't care anyway, remember?' Chase reminded him of his words of a month ago. Before House could reply, Chase had straightened his lab coat and walked out.

* * *

'_You_, wait a minute,' House instructed, glaring at Chase from behind his desk, as the three of them stood to leave. It had been a week now, and as far as he could tell, nothing had changed. 'Come here.' 

Chase walked over to the desk. 'Yeah?'

When Cameron and Foreman had walked far enough away, House raised his folder to Chase's head, causing him to jerk back. 'Hold still,' House said impatiently. He used the corner of the folder to lift Chase's hair back. 'Is he trying to stop you from going to work?'

'What?'

'Is he trying to stop you from going to work?' House repeated.

'I don't know what you mean.'

'If he's hitting you hard enough to damage your long-term memory then it really _has_ gone farther than fun and games.'

'I...'

'So help me God, if the next words out of your mouth are "I fell", I will fire you.'

'I _tripped_,' Chase answered.

'Chase, I have in my desk an astonishing variety of pamphlets on domestic abuse, so many, in fact, that the nice lady on the desk gave me an extremely pitying look as I left. This is entirely for your benefit, I might add, so you could try to be a _little_ helpful.'

'Because you've suddenly decided to take an interest? General Hospital in reruns this time of year? Or is it The OC in hiatus?'

'What I don't understand is how none of your hissy-fits are being directed at _him_. I'm actually the good-guy in this scenario - the one _not _trying to beat you into a bloody pulp - and _I'm_ the one you're squeaking indignantly at?'

Chase sighed. 'If I take one of your leaflets are you going to stop?'

'Probably not. If, on the other hand, you stop coming into the office looking half-dead, even on the days you're _not_ covered in bruises, then maybe. I ask again, did he want to stop you from coming in to work? That's why they hit you in the face,' he elaborated, waving a leaflet, 'to keep you at home.'

'I tripped.'

'Yes, because continually repeating the lie, _that's_ what makes it true!'

Chase leant towards House. 'Am I doing a bad job?'

'That all depends on...'

'Worse than you normally think I'm doing,' Chase amended.

'You're twitchier than normal.'

'And this is impacting on my diagnostic ability?'

'It's distracting me.'

'No, it's not. When my private life starts impacting on how I do my job, then you can go to Cuddy. Until then, butt out.'

As Chase left the office, House called after him, 'When the glass hits a little closer to one of the major arteries, and you bleed to death in your apartment, is that impact enough?'

Chase didn't reply.

* * *

It was ten in the morning, and he was missing one member of his team. They had white-boarded without Chase at nine, expecting to see him come in any moment. House had sent Cameron and Foreman to run the tests while he evaded clinic. But now it was ten, he could see through the glass as he walked back to the office and... 

House slammed the door to the office open. Cameron and Foreman looked round, but neither appeared particularly startled. 'Where's Chase?'

'He's not with you?' Foreman asked in surprise.

House made a show of checking his pockets. 'Well, no intensivist here. He hasn't phoned either of you, told you to fob me off for a few hours while he sleeps off a hangover?'

'No,' Cameron answered. She tried to placate him, 'Maybe he's just late? The traffic was pretty bad this morning.'

'Chase isn't late,' House answered, walking back out the door. 'If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'm in the clinic.'

'Won't that be _more_ suspicious?' Foreman asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

'Good point. Tell them I'm with Wilson. That has the benefit of being the truth, so Cameron won't have to blush.'

Not that it mattered much, as Cameron responded to his comment with an indignant blush anyway.

* * *

'Get your coat,' House instructed Wilson, hanging in the door of his office. 

'Dr House,' Wilson answered formally, with a slight smile to the person sitting opposite him, 'I have a patient - can this wait?'

'No,' he answered shortly. 'We need to go now.'

Wilson made his excuses and rescheduled the meeting while House glared impatiently. Finally free, they walked as quickly as House could manage to the elevator.

'So what's wrong?'

'Chase isn't here.'

'You're dragging me out of the hospital because one of your staff is playing hooky?'

'I paged him. I phoned the cell and his apartment. This is Chase - he doesn't skip work and he doesn't leave his pager off.'

Wilson looked at House in concern. 'You think something's happened to him?'

'If it hasn't, he's in _so_ much trouble.'

* * *

'Chase!' 

'Why do you have his key?'

'I didn't,' House answered shortly. 'The door wasn't locked. Chase!'

'Robert?' Wilson tried.

House looked at him quizzically, 'When do you think was the last time someone called him by his first name?'

'Fine.' Wilson glared. 'Chase?'

'Chase, if you're not dead or dying, you're fired.'

'House.' Wilson gestured into the bedroom.

'If you're asleep, you're fired twice!'

'House.' The bedroom was a mess. House stepped carefully over the broken glass and around the duvet piled up on the floor.

No sign of Chase though. But there was a walk-in closet. And the way the chair was placed against the door, under the handle…

'Oh God.'

* * *

FIN until next time. Thoughts? 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: All the positive responses to this story have been the bright spot in an otherwise awful week, so thanks a lot! So here's the next part - again you are reminded that this story contains reference to violence, but this chapter has nothing explicit.

* * *

'Chase!' House shouted. Later, playing it back, he would hear the panic in his voice, although he wasn't certain what he feared. He pulled the chair aside and tugged at the handle, but the door didn't shift. 

'Who puts a lock on their closet?' Wilson asked, looking around for a key.

'Here,' House said grimly, waving the key that had been abandoned on the bedside table. He forced the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened, finally.

It was a big closet. An inane thing to note, but so the brain works in these situations. A walk-in, with a mirror. Chase was sitting on the floor, propped up against the back-wall, eyes closed. There was a moment where he was just one more thing to note, and then the doctor impulse kicked in.

For the second time in a month Greg House found himself making a list of Chase's injuries. No worse than last time really. Except that Chase should be getting up right now and asking why his home was being invaded.

Leg protesting vociferously, House made it to Chase's side and lowered himself to the ground. 'Chase.'

It was a command, not a request, and Chase opened blue eyes to focus on his boss. 'House.' He didn't sound surprised, or scared – didn't sound anything.

'Good. Can you tell me your name?'

'Robert Chase.'

'And where are you?'

'New Jersey.'

'More specific,' House demanded, with hands gentle in Chase's hair to feel for more wounds.

'My apartment.'

'Want to tell me what the hell happened?'

'What…' a shuddering breath, '…what do you mean?'

House forced the question into softness, if for no other reason than if he didn't do this right Wilson was going to take over. 'You normally hang out in closets? What did Tom do?'

'Nothing,' he whispered back, breath coming in sharp gasps.

'Try that one again. Make me believe it this time.'

'I was late coming home.'

House could barely make out the words now. 'And it was on time too many?'

Chase nodded, still gasping.

'Breathe, Chase.'

But the young man was in full-blown panic.

'Chase!' House instructed. 'You need to take deep breaths.'

'Can't!' he shot back sharply.

House gave a flickering smile. 'Good boy. Yell at me, that'll calm you right down. Come on, think of something peaceful. Tell you what - you missed our morning chat, I'll fill you in. Twenty seven year old male. Fatigue and joint swelling.'

'Lupus.'

'No rash. No pleuritis or pericarditis. No fever.'

'Rheumatoid arthritis.'

'Wilson suggested it, but no nodules.'

'It can present without nodules.'

'True, but it doesn't often present without a high RF level.'

'You didn't tell me that,' Chase protested weakly. He paused. 'Strep throat.'

'Little severe for strep throat,' House answered, but with a satisfied look. He waited a moment before confirming, 'Patient was recovering from strep throat.'

'Glomerulonephritis,' Chase concluded.

'That was my idea. We're doing urine tests now, but it is _my_ idea, so it's probably right.'

Chase nodded dully, but his breathing was back to normal. When he trusted his voice again, he offered, 'I think he just wanted to scare me. He was coming back.'

'That's sweet of him, but you're not going to be here.' House was met with a confused stare. 'Oh, we're through with this whole "this is none of your business" crap. You don't make it into work, it's my business. That was our agreement. Or, to be more accurate, that was what you yelled as you stormed out of the office. And you need to go to the hospital anyway.'

He shook his head firmly. 'No.'

'You want to wait for him to come home?' House asked incredulously.

Another head-shake, weaker this time. 'We can leave if you want. Just… not the hospital, okay?'

'You're bleeding.'

'Not a lot. There's a first aid kit. I'll…' he tried to get up.

House glared at him. 'Just how stupid are you? James, run and fetch the first aid kit, will you. We get to play doctor. It's not going to be as much fun as it sounds.'

'It's in the bathroom cabinet,' Chase murmured.

House pushed back Chase's bangs again. Mostly to himself he muttered, 'What _am_ I going to do with you?'

Chase shrugged. He still looked out of it. At least, he wasn't functioning enough to differentiate between a rhetorical question and a serious one.

'When did he leave?' House asked, realizing that Chase hadn't mentioned it.

'What time did I leave the hospital yesterday?'

'Nine,' he answered, hoping that the question wasn't asked for the reason he was imagining.

'Then since ten, something like that.'

'You didn't…'

'What, call someone? No phone in the closet, unsurprisingly.'

'You could have shouted. The walls can't be that thick.'

'I didn't really think he'd be gone so long. Normally…' he realized that was a mistake, and trailed off.

'Normally.' House said, shortly.

'Normally _when we fight_ he comes back in an hour or so.'

'That wasn't what you were going to say. You were _going _to say that normally when he locks you up, and I imagine there's probably some fun time with ropes as well, he doesn't leave you there overnight. Boy, you must have really ticked him off this time!'

'Yeah.'

Wilson came in with the first aid kit. It was well-stocked. A doctor's kit, not one of the pricy ones they tried to fob off on gullible consumers who thought that the bigger and shinier the box, the safer their family would be. Though there were fewer plastic stitches and dressings than he would have thought. No great surprise there.

House batted James's hands away and closed and dressed the cut himself. 'Anywhere else?'

'No. Just bruises.'

He ignored Chase, and pushed the t-shirt up to look at his chest. It was "just bruises", although bruise was a fairly mild word for some of the marks. 'Okay. Phone, now.'

'What?'

'Phone. Tell him,' he explained slowly and carefully, 'not to come back.'

'I…'

'_Now_, Chase. He interfered with your job - we're on my rules now.'

Chase gave him a long look, and got up. He walked out of the room.

House accepted Wilson's hand to pull himself up, and the two of them walked slowly after Chase. When they reached the living room, Chase was on the phone.

'I know that you were going to come back… Yeah, I do… but this isn't, it isn't good for either of us… I missed work today!... No, this has nothing to do with him… I…'

House came up behind Chase, and calmly took the phone. 'This is Greg House. Don't come back to his apartment, he's having the locks changed. If you come near him again, he'll take out a restraining order against you. And if I see you in the hospital, I will call the police myself and tell them what you did. As far as I'm aware assault, rape, and imprisonment are all still pretty serious crimes in New Jersey.'

He heard the bitter laughter on the other end of the line. Oh good, he was drunk. That probably explained why he hadn't come back, actually. Tom spat the words, 'Is that what he told you? That I hurt him? He was _begging _for it.'

House looked at Chase. His eyes were fixed on his hands, although it was obvious that he was listening to every word. 'Funny,' House answered, 'but that isn't what it looked like.'

'What's it to you, anyway? You've no right to tell me what I can and can't do! He's my boyfriend. What is he to you? He isn't _yours_,' he slurred.

'Wrong.'

'What?'

'That's where you're wrong. He is mine. So come near him again and it'll be the last thing you do as a free man.'

He hung up the phone. Chase was looking at him like he was deliverance. And like he wasn't entirely sure if his ears were working.

House nodded at the door. 'Go grab a toothbrush and a change of clothes. I'll take you to my house until your locks are changed.'

Chase nodded briefly and left to pack a bag.

Wilson hissed, 'Are you out of your mind!'

'That's a fairly common opinion, yes, but I have my doubts.'

'On a _whim_, you decide that the best way to deal with Chase's problems is to let him transfer his issues onto you? That's what this is. If you suddenly decided that it's vital to help Chase, there are other ways to do it. As it is,' he stuttered, 'this is just _transference_! He's moving from a physically abusive relationship with Tom to an emotionally abusive one with you!'

That made House angrier than it should have. 'I don't _hit_ him!'

'I'm not saying you do…'

'And _I'm _saying that as long as I'm _not_ hitting him, this is better. Can we at least agree on that much? Chase can sort out his childhood traumas on his own time. I don't care about that, I just need him not to come to work every day looking like he's just gone ten rounds. For God's sake, it's not like I'm taking him home to tie to the bed and ravish.'

'Thank you for that image.' Wilson shot back. 'This isn't healthy, you know that.'

'Neither is being knocked around and locked up in your own apartment! Aren't you the one who's always telling me to be nicer to my staff? I'm fairly sure it was you who was telling me, three months ago, to tread softly around Chase because of his Dad. What's changed?'

'I didn't expect you to decide to become his keeper and steal him from his boyfriend!'

'His _abusive _boyfriend!'

'You know perfectly well that part of the reason he even ended up in a relationship like that is…'

'Oh, so now this is my fault? Well then isn't it lucky that I've decided to fix my mistake?'

Chase coughed, hovering at the door.

They shut up instantly. Great, now they were sitcom parents. Whatever you do, don't air the problems in front of the kids.

'Coat,' Wilson instructed Chase, heedless of the fact that he was doing nothing to help House's terrifying mental pictures. Especially since he had been about half a second from sending Chase for a coat himself. Mother hens with one chick might have been more accurate. Except that House, of course, was in fact a lone parent with three chicks. And Wilson was married with none. Which may have been why he was suddenly trying to look after Chase, but that was no excuse for implying that House was the cause of the boy's problems. Rowan had done most of the hard work long before House had met either Chase.

'Out,' he ordered, before Wilson started trying to zip Chase's coat for him. One night, while the locks were changed. Then Chase would be able to move back into his own apartment, and the crazy boyfriend would be locked out. Then they could go back to their "emotionally abusive" but mostly functional boss-duckling relationship.

Seemingly intent on disproving him, Chase jumped backwards when House accidentally caught his side with the cane on the way out of the door.

Not exactly affectionately, but firmly, he placed a hand on Chase's arm. 'Come on, you've been called in sick for today and tomorrow, but Wilson and I need to go back to the hospital sometime today. Let's go.' He wrapped his fingers around Chase's elbow and led him out of the apartment.

* * *

FIN for now. Thoughts? (Oh, and the medical parts may be nonsense, I used WebMD, but having no medical knowledge whatsoever...) 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Sorry for the delay, and any errors within, I have no internet in the house at the moment, so uploading is problematic. Betaed by parkermonster, so many thanks!

* * *

'Chase?' House called. He had set Chase down on his couch hours before with a nod towards the cable and the fridge, but it was occurring to him that he hadn't exactly told him to stay there. 

'Yeah?' But then Chase was used to obeying the implicit instructions House gave. He was in the kitchen, padding around sock-less.

'Barefoot and in the kitchen? If you're pregnant, you may be beyond even my considerable expertise.'

He blushed, 'I was getting something to eat. Do you want anything?'

'You cooked me dinner?'

The incredulity in his voice forced Chase into defensiveness. 'I cooked for me. There's enough for you if you want. If you don't.. .'

'Why would I turn down free food?'

Chase brought him a plate of pasta, setting it carefully on the table. They ate in near silence, only breaking it to pass the salt.

When they had finished, Chase carried the plates to the sink to wash. House wondered whether James had been entirely wrong in his warnings. He had been repeating them all day, so clearly _he _thought they were warranted. But Chase was a grown man, however stupidly childlike he looked wandering around barefoot and bruised.

'Here,' he growled, tossing Chase a set of keys when the washing up was finished. 'All sorted. The nasty man won't be able to get in now.'

He was met with a hesitant look. 'Thanks for sorting it out. I should probably go then...'

Not sure whether he was relenting to the almost-plea, or succumbing to his own need to make sure that Chase was spending the night somewhere safe, he answered, 'It's ten o'clock - I'm not driving you home tonight. I have a perfectly good couch you can sleep on.'

Chase nodded, a hint of gratefulness flickering in his eyes.

* * *

House woke to the soft hum of the television in the living room. It took a few moments for the events of the previous day to filter through his brain, so he could recall that Chase was here, and thus there was no need to go after cable-loving burglars with his cane. 

He limped out to explain to Chase exactly why waking your boss up at three a.m. was a bad idea.

Chase was already looking at the doorway when House appeared in it. 'Sorry,' he murmured.

'The question is – will "sorry" turn back time so I don't get woken up by house-guests in the middle of the night, irreparably damaging my sleep-patterns?' he responded contemplatively.

Still wrapped in the blanket, Chase got up and turned the television off. 'Sorry,' he repeated.

'Tell that to the sleep-patterns,' he said mournfully. 'Go make yourself hot milk or whatever it is that good British children drink to make themselves sleepy. I have to work tomorrow – no time to sit here reading you bedtime stories.'

Chase scoffed quietly at that, but walked to the kitchen. 'Want anything?'

'Sleep. No clinic hours and no patients tomorrow.' He pondered, 'And a hooker named Sally.'

A slight smile. 'From the kitchen.'

'Sally isn't in the kitchen in some kind of French maid ensemble, is she?'

Chase shook his head, although it wasn't clear whether it was an answer to the question or a response to House's French maid fantasy being called Sally.

When Chase came back he settled into the couch with a sigh, inhaling the steam emanating from the mug.

'You can go,' he offered to House.

'As it is _my_ house, I'm aware of that, yes. Where did you get cocoa from?'

'Kitchen?'

He shook his head. 'Now, Robert, only bad boys lie.'

'I went to the shop while you were at work. I forgot to bring shaving cream.'

'And so naturally you stocked up on cocoa power.'

'You didn't tell me not to leave.'

'I'm not asking why you left, I'm asking why you left to buy cocoa powder.'

'I didn't _leave_ to buy cocoa powder. I just saw it while I was there and picked it up. I don't know why I'm explaining this – it's my money and...'

'No marshmallows?'

He blushed, admitting, 'I forgot.'

'So you remember cocoa, but marshmallows are beyond you?'

'Why are you...?'

House interrupted him, 'When was the last time you slept?'

'Last night?'

'Well that's a lie, because you spent last night in a _closet!'_

'The night before, then,' he responded, shrugging.

'For a whole night.'

'What are you...?'

'The doors are locked, Chase. The bogey-men are all outside. Lie down and go to sleep.'

Chase just blinked at him.

House sighed, and poked the television back on with the end of his cane. He reached for the remote and channel-hopped to a badly dubbed kung-fu movie. Daring Chase to comment, he made no move to go back to his room.

Chase just pulled the blankets tighter around himself, and settled down, sipping from the hot cocoa periodically.

Inching close enough to snag the mug as it was dropped was tricky, but House managed it. He shoved Chase lightly so he fell, still asleep, onto the end of the sofa. When House went back to bed, ten minutes later, he left the lamp on.

* * *

FIN 


	5. Chapter 5

'Chase! Leaving now!'

'Coming,' he called from the bathroom.

'I might be more inclined to believe that if you hadn't said the same thing half an hour ago. You can blow-dry your hair at your own house.'

Chase opened the door. 'Done.' He was wearing his lab coat, and had his hair brushed down in front of the gash on his forehead.

'A little dressed up for recuperating in the apartment, aren't you? And the whole doctor role-play thing's only fun if you have company,' House said.

'I'm going to work.'

'Okay.' Chase blinked in surprise at the easy acquiescence. House went on, 'But if you have a breakdown in the office we're all just going to work around your prone body. I don't offer sympathy and cosseting to people who assert that they're fine.'

'You don't offer sympathy to people who aren't asserting they're fine either. So I wasn't exactly expecting any.'

'...good.'

* * *

Still, it couldn't hurt to keep an eye on Chase. This wouldn't be the first time that he had spent productive hours staring at Chase to see how long it took to make him crack. So no one, barring Cameron succumbing to puppy-dog eyes, would stop him. It could stay between him and his mind that this time he was hoping to stop Chase _before_ he cracked. Damaged Chase was a fun enough toy, but broken beyond use would only make him feel guilty, and guilt was his least favourite of all the emotions.

But Chase seemed fine. Still a little quiet, but he had been quieter since somewhere between Vogler and his father's death, so as far as House knew, it was nothing to do with Tom. He was more awake than he had been in weeks, and participating in the white-board with something approaching his usual enthusiasm.

When he seemed to drift off, House called him back sharply, 'Chase!'

'Hmmm?'

'Is the answer to the case hidden in the pencil you're so ardently devouring? Or am I simply no longer worthy of your attention?'

He received a glower for his troubles, and Chase began to rhyme off a string of suggestions, all related to their discussion of the last few minutes. Typical – no gratitude.

* * *

The patient was gasping for breath. Chase was standing at the head of the bed, trying to intubate her without success. The husband was having hysterics in the background, and her lips were turning blue.

'Get out of the way!' House said, pushing past the nurses. He elbowed Chase out of the way. 'You're no use to me in here. Go!' He took the tube from Chase's hands, and fed it slowly into the airway.

House left the patient's room after reluctantly reassuring the husband that his wife was breathing fine now, and they were doing all they could. It wasn't until he had nearly reached his office that he remembered Chase's expression when he had been ordered out. Chase had been fine for weeks now, since House had driven him to the hospital the morning after he had forcibly ended Chase's relationship with Tom. The last time he had seen Chase look like that had been...

He found Chase in the office.

Chase looked up at him, no hint of the desperation of half an hour ago. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I just couldn't find the airway.'

'Luckily, I could,' House answered, none of his relief showing. 'Patients have this stupid desire to keep breathing.'

* * *

House hovered in the doorway of the office, watching Cameron and Foreman. They were supposed to be finished for the day, and he wanted to know why they hadn't headed back into their lives of (presumably) puppy-coddling, and sex with drug reps. The patient, after her minor not-breathing episode, seemed to have stabilised, and they could do nothing until the tests arrived the next morning.

'Did Chase seem okay to you?' Cameron was asking Foreman.

'I'm gonna take a wild leap and assume you think he isn't,' he answered.

'I'm worried about him.'

'You worry about everyone.'

'You don't think he's been strange?'

'Chase is always strange. It's an Australian thing.'

'He's really fidgety. He's not fighting back when you shout him down. Plus, he's he fell down the stairs in his apartment and got this huge bruise. And he isn't normally clumsy.'

'You've seen his leg?' Foreman asked, grinning. When Cameron glared, he looked serious. 'He's been jumpier than usual.'

'So,' Cameron said, 'agitation, clumsiness, paranoia... those are all psychological symptoms.'

'You think he needs a shrink?'

'All I mean is, it's not just a bad mood, or distraction - there's something wrong.'

House made his presence known. 'Where is he?'

'Chase?' Cameron asked. 'He went home. It's pretty late.'

'He was going straight home?'

'That's what he said. Why do you need to know?'

He was already dialling Chase's home number. It went to the answering machine, and after the beep House snapped, 'Chase? If you don't call me back in five minutes I'm coming over there.'

'What?' Foreman asked.

House didn't say a word. They sat in silence, House looking at his watch. When five minutes had passed he got up and walked to the door. 'Go home,' he threw over his shoulder.

* * *

Chase wasn't home. House had suspected that but, even as he let himself into the apartment with the key he had stolen, he had hoped. He had hoped that, just once, he had judged Chase wrong.

When House got back into the car, he wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he knew the direction. In one of the town's less pleasant areas, he found what he was looking for.

The bar was smoky and loud, but Chase's blond hair was fairly distinctive. Especially leaning in like that, to a man who was not the one House had feared, but from the look he gave Chase, might well be so close as to make no difference.

As he walked over, he found himself wondering, yet again: _What am I going to do with you. _This time there was no answer.

* * *

FIN: Thoughts? More asap, hopefully before Christmas 


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for the lovely reviews. Slight warning, although if you've read the story so far, it shouldn't be a problem: description of sexual acts in this chapter. Parkermonster, my lovely beta, tells me that it's definitely not more than R-rated, so I hope that doesn't put anyone off. Enjoy!

* * *

He grabbed Chase's wrist tightly, dragging the younger man off the stool. 'So sorry,' he said to the hulking man Chase was talking to, 'I'm his doctor, and we need him back in quarantine.' Whatever the man-mountain had been going to say, he stopped when he heard that.

Tossing a few bills on the bar, House pulled Chase, who was still not speaking, out and into his car. When they were safely on the road, and Chase couldn't leave unless he decided to play stunt-man out of the Corvette, House asked, 'What the hell is wrong with you?' He wasn't shaking, because he wasn't a teenage girl, but he gripped the wheel tightly. 'Just how much of a _moron_ are you?'

'It's none of your...'

'Business. Heard this song, the original was better. What is going on in that pretty head of yours, Robert? My big bad boss lost me one violent psychopathic boyfriend, so it's probably time to go and find a new one?'

'He was nice.'

'No, he wasn't. Or did you not notice what kind of establishment you were frequenting there? Plus there was the way he was looking at you, like Christmas had come early.'

'There's a difference between...'

'Yes, there is, but I'm not convinced you actually know what it is.' Genuinely curious he asked, 'What do you get from it?'

'From what?'

'From letting someone beat you into a pulp, Chase. What did you think I meant?'

'I...'

'Because, you see, I understand what you get from me. I'm the Daddy-replacement. An improvement in every way of course, but a replacement nonetheless. I'm where you go for medical-genius, pats on the head, and, according to Wilson, emotional abuse. But I cannot quite fathom what you get from being used a punching bag.'

'What does anyone get from it?'

'Usually? They're stuck, or compulsive fixers, or so starved for attention that a slap's as good as a kiss.'

'So pick one,' Chase answered, smiling with something that was neither warmth nor humour. 'You're the diagnostician.'

'So are you.'

'I'm an intensivist.'

'No, Chase, you're a diagnostician. So if the intensivist thing was an attempt to make Pops mad, you're going to have to abandon it. I'm all geared up to train you into a mini-me.' He would have cackled to emphasise the point, but they were getting off track. 'So you tell me why you think it is. You did a psych rotation at some point, I'm sure.'

'You want me to tell you that my Dad leaving gave me abandonment issues and left me with no male role-model to create my identity from? That having to take care of an alcoholic mother made me a control-freak? That I had to grow up too fast and now I'll take affection wherever I can get it?'

'Well now I know what _you_ think _isn't_ wrong with you. That's a start.'

'Everybody lies?'

'Good boy.'

Chase smiled at that despite himself, and then looked around in alarm. 'Where are we?'

'Forgotten so soon?'

'I thought you were taking me home?'

'After that little display? You'll be lucky if you're ever let out to play again.'

'You're... what, kidnapping me?'

'I'm putting you somewhere safe until I can figure out what to do with you.'

- - - -- - -

And once again, here he was, sitting on his sofa with Chase, the younger man curled into a tight ball.

'You're not a replacement for my Dad,' Chase said, apropos of nothing.

'Are you sure? Because I was so looking forward to our estrangement.' House wondered whether that was going too far. On the plus side, he hadn't mentioned Rowan's untimely death, so he considered himself to be on the side of the angels right now.

'You're not,' Chase repeated. 'If I was looking for that, I'd go to Wilson before you.'

'Robert, I'm hurt.'

'Everyone knows he's the nice one. If I wanted someone to tell me I was doing alright, pat me on the head and give me hugs, he's the better choice. You're...'

'Special,' House answered smugly.

Chase sighed and rubbed his face in exhaustion. 'Sure, whatever.'

'What do you get from them?' House asked again.

'Why won't you leave this alone?'

'I _had.'_

'So this is what I deserve?'

'Interesting choice of words there.'

Chase groaned. 'Clearly _you're _the one still thinking about their psyche rotation.'

'What can I say, you intrigue me. And since I can't throw you in with Rowan and watch the explosion in real-time anymore, I'll have to go with the boring option. What's up?'

'Why should I tell you?' Chase asked coolly.

'Because right now I'm the only person in your life who cares enough to ask.'

He leaned back, just a little, not because he was afraid, but because if Chase actually used that raised hand to hit him, there would be no hope of ending this conversation well. But Chase didn't make a fist, or swipe his palm across House's face. He curled his fingers around House's shoulder, and pulled him back, closer than before. The kiss was clumsy and hard, in contrast to Chase's feather-light grip. For a moment, he didn't move. When he did, opening his mouth to Chase, tentatively using his tongue, Chase stopped pushing. Letting House take control. Making House take control.

The next positive move Chase made was standing up, pulling House with him, towards the bedroom.

'Chase,' House said. 'Bad idea.'

'You asked.'

He couldn't really argue with that. It was just that he hadn't expected the answer to his question to be a practical demonstration.

If he had ever imagined sex with Chase, not something he was willing to concede definitively, even in his head, it had not been like this. Pinning Chase, lying half on top of him, using his one good leg to hold himself up. Driving into him, harder than he should be, because of Chase's insistent thrusts upwards. The blond head was tilted back, eyes shut tightly. The cry he gave could either be pleasure or pain and House was reminded of exactly why he thought this was a bad idea.

'Stop,' House instructed harshly.

Chase's protesting cry was inarticulate at best.

'Chase, stop.'

He did, petulantly rolling away, shaking House from his precarious balance. House swore harshly, grimacing in pain.

Chase's eyes were wide with horror as he stammered apologies.

He must be more of a bastard than he thought, because this – Chase's mingled apology and adoration as he crawled down the bed – this – warm mouth around his cock in penance for a sin major or minor – this was closer to what he imagined sex with Chase would be like.

So, in the morning, he wasn't sure whether it was for Chase's benefit or his own that the first words out of his mouth were: 'This can't happen again.'

Chase nodded, as if this was no more than he had expected.

'Not that it wasn't a fun time for all involved, but you need help, Chase, and I'm not it.'

'And there's no particular reason this revelation didn't occur before the blow-job?'

'Chase.'

He didn't respond, pulling on jeans and wounded dignity. But his voice was lost and despairing, and utterly, utterly resigned when he turned at the door to deliver his goodbye. 'Why can you never just leave me alone?'

* * *

Fin for this chapter. Thoughts? 


	7. Chapter 7

AN: And we have the closing chapters! Sorry for taking so long - computer/plot problems. As to the debate over whether House was abusing Chase in the last chapter... Well clearly I'm not condoning an abusive relationship, and this is a House/Chase fic. However, as I meant to be clear from the last lines of the last chapter - neither was that sex the beginning of the relationship. They were both in the wrong head-space for it to be that. So (I hope) these chapters sort that mess out, and no one will come after me with pitchforks. Thanks for all the reviews, both positive and negative - you all gave me something to think about. And special thanks to kiwi-fruit-from-hellfor coming to my defence on the issue :-)

Enjoy the end of the story!

* * *

'Where were _you_ last night?'

'What?'

'Not a difficult question, Chase.'

'Home. You made that pretty clear.'

House reached over to snag Chase's arm. 'How_ever_ did you manage to get a bruise like that "at home"?'

Chase looked down at the bruising around his wrist as if he had never seen it before. He didn't say a word.

'You went back there,' House stated. 'Or did you go straight to the source and knock on the ex's door? He's certainly the most _reliable_ source of bruising that you know!'

'I was at _home_ last night,' Chase said.

'Is this like "I tripped"?' House asked caustically.

'Believe what you want, but I was at home.'

'So how _exactly_ did you manage to get that interestingly-coloured bruise?'

Chase looked at the floor and hovered from one foot to the other. 'You did it,' he bit out eventually.

'What?' he asked incredulously.

'You did it,' Chase repeated, still not meeting House's eyes. 'When you took me out of the bar.'

He remembered now, gripping Chase's wrist to pull him out of the bar, being angry enough to punch him, though he had done nothing but lead him hurriedly out. The bruise was purple, just fading to green, and it stood stark against Chase's pale skin, like every other mark he had seen on it. He wrapped his fingers around the slender wrist, matching them to the bruise. 'Why the hell didn't you say anything?' he forced out angrily.

'I didn't notice,' Chase whispered.

'What!' he spat back.

Chase shook his head, trying to clear it, 'I didn't notice the pain.'

'You're not telling me...' House began incredulously

'I didn't notice,' Chase whispered again, before taking a look at House, and fleeing.

* * *

'So,' House said, sitting down beside Wilson in the cafeteria, 'you may have been right.' When James blinked at him disbelievingly, he scowled. 'Don't let it go to your head.'

'Not much chance of that,' Wilson muttered. 'So, what was I right about?'

'Chase.'

'What did you do?' Wilson asked, eyes widening in concern.

'Now what makes you think _I'm _the problem?'

'What did you do?' Wilson repeated. Then, giving House a long look, 'You _slept_ with him!'

'James, friends normally ask before blowing their friend's carefully maintained reputation for heterosexuality.'

Wilson took a quick look around the cafeteria. 'They all think you're pining after me anyway. This way they'll just think maybe it goes two ways and I'm jealous.'

'I don't _pine._'

'Distraction isn't going to work, Greg.' Wilson lowered his voice. 'You slept with Chase. I specifically told you...'

'I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if the words, "Don't sleep with Chase" had ever crossed your lips.'

'I thought it was implied! He's just out of an abusive relationship, and now you're letting him plunge headlong into one with...'

'We're not in a relationship,' House interrupted.

'So you just fucked him and left.'

'Language, Jimmy,' House admonished mockingly. 'And it was my apartment, so he left. Plus, I thought me and Chase together was a "bad thing"?'

'Better than a one night stand. He _likes_ you.'

'I know he likes me. Or do you think I'm so innocent that his putting his lips on mine would be a complete mystery to me? And, on that note, he did start it.'

'So what, you just rolled over and let it happen? You can't seriously be trying to say that you're the wronged party here. He's been pining after you since you hired him.'

'Now, Chase I can see pining. And I know.'

'And knowing this you still...' Wilson asked in disbelief

'At the time, it seemed like a good idea.'

'So did Communism!'

'Any doctrine that relies on the good nature of the majority of humanity is a bad idea from the start,' House objected.

'Whereas a plan that relied on you being able to have casual sex with one of your employees had a good chance of success?'

'It wasn't...'

'Wasn't _what_?'

'He was in a bar,' House explained bitterly, 'trying to pick up another... I brought him back. I needed to do something to stop him from doing it again. So you can keep your sanctimonious attitude, Jimmy - I made a decision.'

'We're back to "I don't hit him"?' Wilson asked. 'Can I remind you that you also said you weren't taking him home to ravish?'

'I _didn't. _I took him home, fed him, and made him get some sleep. _Then_ he decides to test my resolve by seeing if I'd save him from abuser number two! I stopped him before that. He's safe this morning, because I slept with him last night. Fit that into the model you're happily building of me as abuser number three.'

'And that was the best way to do it?'

House sighed harshly and stared James down. His eyes dropped first, sighing. 'I _said _you may have been right. What more do you want?'

'What are you going to do about it?'

'I'll think about it.'

* * *

He had all day to think about it, because Chase found something to occupy himself in the lab and disappeared for hours.

When he finally found his wayward charge, it was nearly midnight. House leaned forward on his cane, peering at Chase. 'Shouldn't you be somewhere not here?'

'I'm on call in the ICU in five minutes.'

'Has there been a mass cull of intensivists, or why else are they resorting to doctors who have already worked ten hours today?'

'I volunteered.'

House restrained himself from the instinctive masochist joke, and instead asked, 'Why?'

Chase looked up to meet his eyes, and for the first time in so long, they were calm and clear. 'I don't want to go home. You were right.'

'Twas ever thus,' House answered sagely, 'What about?'

'If I go home, I might... do something I'll regret. And it isn't fair to ask you to watch me the whole time. It isn't healthy.'

'And over-working yourself is?'

'If I'm working, I'm not...'

'Thinking.'

Chase almost smiled. 'I hope I'm still thinking or I won't be much good in the ICU. But I won't be thinking about... other things. If I can get myself tired enough to sleep, then I'll be fine when I go home. It's just a stop-gap.'

'Until what?'

'Until I can be on my own without feeling wrong in my skin?'

The raw honesty surprised House. 'Newsflash, Robert. No one feels right in their own skin. That's just one of those pleasant constants of being human – the existential angst.'

'You know what I mean.'

House nodded briefly. 'Don't work too long. Real work - that is, the work you do for me – starts at nine.'

'I know. Night.'

'Goodnight, Chase.'

* * *

'Did you try drinking your way to sleep?' House asked, once again finding Chase staying late in the office.

'I don't think that'd be a good precedent to set,' Chase answered tightly.

Of course – mommy the wino. Chase was probably right. 'How do you know I meant alcohol?' House asked. 'I thought cocoa and marshmallows was your insomnia cure of choice.'

It shouldn't be so easy to charm a smile out of Chase, but still Chase graced him with that soft look that recently made him feel just a little guilty. 'I forgot.'

'You're staying here tonight?'

'Yeah.'

'Here,' House handed him a key. 'The couch in the office is more comfortable than the bed in the ICU. Just don't mess with my stuff.'

Chase smirked, 'I promise I won't touch your porn and video games.'

'See that you don't.'

'Night.'

'Goodnight, Chase.'

* * *

'We're now at the point where you actually owning a bed in your apartment is a mystery to me.'

'House...'

'It's been three weeks, Chase. Have you slept more than two hours in your own bed at any time during this period?'

'What do you suggest?'

'You could...'

'No.'

'You don't know what I was going to say.'

'You've checked which time I've signed out every day for three weeks. I know what you were going to say.'

'At least you might sleep.'

'I sleep fine here.'

'On a couch in my office.'

'Better than a couch in your apartment. Or your bed.'

That was the first time Chase had indicated that he actually remembered anything of their night together bar the argument the next morning.

'I'm not sure why you decided to rescue me,' Chase began. He frowned when House made a disbelieving noise. 'Not why you thought I needed to be rescued. Why you decided to do it yourself.'

House thought about it. Because you wouldn't do it yourself. Because you didn't ask. Because you didn't want me to. In the end, he shrugged.

Chase nodded as if he understood. 'But I know you didn't want to. You didn't want to sleep with me either. And you don't really want me to come home with you. So thanks, but I need to do it myself.'

'By never sleeping in your apartment?'

'By proving to myself that I can be on my own.'

'People generally _don't _cope on their own. That's why they spend so much time being... pleasant to each other for no reason. So they can make someone else stick around and convince themselves that their existence has some meaning beyond "Dad was horny and Mom was drunk".'

'I don't want to need your help. The next time you ask me home, I want it to be because you want me to be with you, not just because you're afraid of me being with someone else.'

'Chase...'

'Night.'

'Goodnight, Chase.'


	8. Chapter 8

'The dad didn't lay a finger on that kid.'

'Broken bones. Claims he fell over. Breakages too severe for that. We've run many, many tests, Chase. If he's not getting hit by someone, he has some disease so obscure even I can't figure it out, and that's a prospect I wouldn't like to entertain. Personally I prefer to believe he's lying.'

'Better for the kid too,' Foreman observed, 'Abusive dad is easier to remove than whatever the hell bizarre disease Chase is about to suggest.'

'I'm not saying he's not getting hit,' Chase responded sharply. 'I'm saying it's not the dad. Look at them.'

The four of them looked through the window at their patient and his father.

'People...'

'Lie,' Chase interrupted. 'I know. But I'm telling you, it's not the dad. He's easier around his dad than I ever was with mine, and Dad never so much as slapped me.'

'Doesn't mean much,' House said. 'Oedipus had a better relationship with his pops than you did.'

'Give me a minute with him,' Chase asked.

* * *

House stood at the doorway with Cameron and Foreman when Chase went into the room. They held back, but left the door open a crack.

'Hi, Jamie,' Chase said quietly.

The sixteen year old turned his head to smile at Chase. 'Dr. Chase.'

'How are you feeling?'

'Fine. I keep telling you, it was just a bad fall. Unlucky break.' He grinned at the pun.

'I brought something for you.'

'Yeah?'

Chase nodded as he dropped a pile of leaflets on the bed.

Jamie's voice was tight as he lifted one up and waved it at Chase. 'What the hell? "Getting out and staying out?" – this is for women getting beaten up by their boyfriends. I _fell. _Why would you even...?'

'A friend of mine gave me those,' Chase answered simply. 'I told him that I had fallen too. He didn't believe me. He was right not to.'

'Because what, your ninety-pound girlfriend beat you up?' Jamie asked, looking pointedly at Cameron through the glass.

'Uh...no,' Chase corrected. 'My three-hundred pound boyfriend.'

House heard Cameron's sharp intake of breath. He didn't need to look at her to know that her hand was over her mouth. He looked at Foreman instead, to see his quieter form of shock.

House looked back in at Chase, unsure why he had chosen this way to reveal his big secret. He knew they were listening.

Jamie was looking at his hands on the bed. 'Were you a kid? I mean, was it your dad or something and you just want me to think...'

'No,' Chase answered. 'It was my boyfriend, and it stopped about two months ago.'

'You're just trying to get me to talk.'

'Nope,' Chase said. 'But if you want to, I'm not going anywhere.' Chase stretched his arms up with a sigh, ostensibly getting comfortable and giving Jamie a moment to collect himself. But House would be damned if Chase wasn't better at this than any of them had given him credit for. As he stretched, his shirt sleeves rolled down his wrists to reveal the patches of healing bruises up his arms.

'He's on the football team,' Jamie whispered. 'He's not...not gay, you know? But...'

'But he likes what can get from you.'

'It didn't start like that. I thought we were both just new at it. So I didn't care that it was secret, or even that it hurt, not at the beginning, I mean – they tell you that it hurts to start with, and it's not like I was going to complain...'

'But he liked it when you hurt. He liked it when you yelled or when you screamed.'

'He...he got rough. Not just rough like when guys mess around, but _rough_, rough.'

'And you ended up with fractures.'

'I didn't notice until I got home.'

'You were used to it hurting.' Chase's voice was more knowing than it had any right to be.

'Yeah,' Jamie admitted softly. 'So I just told Dad I had fallen down the stairs. But then they did some x-rays and it turned out that there was more than one break. And I couldn't...'

'It's okay. I get it. I'm just glad we know you're not sick.'

'You can tell them to let me out?'

'Yeah. But Jamie, you're going to have to tell your dad something. He's really worried about you.'

'You wouldn't...'

'No, of course I wouldn't. But we need to tell him something. And you'll need to get help. That's why I brought the leaflets. A lot of help-lines only get calls from men if they're the one doing the hitting. They don't know how to deal with a guy who needs help to get out. But these do. You need to stop it before you get really badly hurt.

'Did you... do you mind me asking... how did you do it?'

Chase sighed, and looked thoughtful. 'Why do you stay with him?'

'Umm...' Jamie started, looking confused, 'I guess I couldn't believe that he was even interested. He's a football player, and all the girls like him, and he was with _me_. I thought he would beat me up, or tell the whole school or something when he caught me looking at him, but he just...'

'It was like he loved you. Like it didn't matter how screwed up you were, because he cared enough to stick around. And the world made more sense for a little while, because someone else was in charge of it. And by the time you realised what was happening, you had stopped being able to tell the difference between kissing and bleeding.'

Jamie's eyes were wide. 'So how did you stop?'

Chase smiled, looking down. His voice was calm and clear. 'You saw my boss? Dr. House, the grumpy one with the limp.' He waved his hand in a way that was presumably meant to indicate a cane. 'He found out. He's the best diagnostician in the country, so that's not much of a surprise. But... he was scared. I've never seen him scared before, and he was scared for me. It hadn't... there's just me. My mum and dad are gone, and I've got no brothers or sisters. No one that would care. I hadn't thought that there was anyone that would care if ... Let alone him. But he was scared for me, and I didn't want to do that. I couldn't do that. So,' he sighed and the trance was broken, 'I have days when I want to go back, but most days I'm okay. Because there are always people that care about us, and we don't repay that by letting ourselves get hurt.'

'Can you... if I tell my dad, will you stay?'

'Sure,' Chase answered. He walked past them out of the room, not saying a word. When he brought Jamie's dad back into the room, he stayed beside the teenager. He curled one hand over the thin shoulder, lending the strength few people even realised he had.

* * *

Chase suffered their scrutiny with good grace. He smiled at Cameron's hesitant inquiries, and doled out information in small doses. He tolerated Foreman's repeated checks that he was going straight home, and went to bars with them when they asked. And he never mentioned House's continual watching, or the calls to check where he was that masqueraded as medical consults.

* * *

It had been three weeks since he had let his secret slip, and they were nearly getting to the point where they no longer watched themselves so carefully.

'Scat,' House instructed. He tapped Chase on the cheek with his cane to get him to leave the seat. Chase was given frequent reminders that this chair was _House's chair_ but every time House came into the office, there he was.

'I'm not a dog, you know,' Chase observed mildly, hopping out of the chair to perch on the desk.

'Oh, you love it really,' House answered on reflex.

'Yup,' Chase said, 'being treated like a pet while my boss knocks me out is my idea of a fun working environment.'

If Chase hadn't been laughing, House might have thought harder before speaking. 'If you think that was me knocking you out, clearly I haven't been hitting you hard enough.' It was a testament to how much of a screw-up that statement was that House, who took back nothing, would have rewound those last few seconds had he been able to.

He looked around to meet Cameron's watery betrayed look, and Foreman's angry one. The two of them edged closer to Chase, silent between them. When Chase looked at him, there was no malice, but a little rueful acknowledgment. Foreman and Cameron still looked ready to punch him. Well, at least this had brought his ducklings together.

House walked to the side of the room and busied himself at the kettle, not speaking. Minutes later, he walked back with two red mugs, one for himself, and one for Chase. 'You two can make your own,' he snapped, while Chase looked at him in confusion.

A split-second later he was feeling the full force of one of Chase's head-down, half-there grins. The blonde head dipped down at the cup pointedly, and then up again to look at House. Cocoa and marshmallows.

* * *

'Dr Chase?' A nurse poked her head through the door. 'There's a man waiting for you in reception. Tom Woods?'

Even from the office, House could see Chase stiffen. 'Tell him to leave, please.'

'We tried. He says he has to see you, that it's important. He said...' she trailed off hesitantly. Idiot. They were trained to call security, but she had obviously decided that this was some kind of lover's tiff.

'I'll be right down,' Chase answered, sighing.

'Should you be doing that?' Foreman asked, recognising the name. A good question.

'I'm not going to...' Chase replied.

'I believe you, but I still think you should just call the police.'

'I need to see him.' Now Foreman was looking tense. Chase tried to placate him, 'If I'm not back in five minutes, you can come down and rescue me, okay?'

'Sure.'

'And...' Chase was halfway out the door when he went back and knelt beside Foreman at the table. He leaned in, speaking urgently. 'Tell House I didn't call him,' Chase pleaded, gripping Foreman's arm. 'Tell him...'

'I got it, man,' Foreman said, 'I'll tell him, I promise.'

* * *

'Tom.'

If Chase had expected _House_ to bother waiting five minutes to come and find him, he was sorely mistaken. And as House had the sense to wait ten seconds for the elevator rather than running helter-skelter for the stairs, he made it there only a few seconds after Chase.

'Rob...' Tom answered, swaying drunkenly.

That was all Chase was going to allow him to say. 'If you come one step closer, I'm calling the police.'

'And tell them what?' Tom asked, sneering. 'Gonna call 911 and tell them that your big bad boyfriend came to pick you up after work? Or is _Greg_ still riding you too hard to come home early?' He made a gesture showing his disbelief that their work was purely medical.

House's hand tightened on his cane.

Chase blushed, just a little. 'Classy, Tom. You're not making this very difficult.' He took out his cell. 'Leave, now, and I won't be calling the police to report you for domestic abuse.'

And Chase hadn't said those words before, but they came from his mouth as if this was a conversation he'd had in his head many times. When Tom stepped forward, face getting redder, Chase lifted the cell phone and dialed.

The next three things happened within a few seconds – Chase started speaking, Tom took a swing at him, and Chase took one back. By the time security arrived, Chase was on the ground clutching his ankle from an awkward fall, but Tom was bleeding from the mouth after Chase's one good hit. Tom was dragged away and House walked over to Chase. He didn't know whether his looming was protective or disapproving, but he didn't leave. Chase's harsh intakes of breath were the only sounds.


	9. Chapter 9

'Come home with me.'

* * *

_One week ago_

'Your hair is inexplicable.' House muttered, looking down at the top of Chase's head.

'What?' Chase asked, looking over his shoulder.

House leaned over and pulled Chase's bangs away from his face. 'No doctor has hair like this.'

'Yeah,' Chase drawled, 'I've been meaning to tell you my medical degree's a forgery. The time never seemed right to bring it up.'

He dropped the hair back against Chase's cheek, brushing the skin lightly. 'It's a hygiene risk! What do you do in surgery?'

'Same as everyone else,' Chase said, a little offended now. 'Put it under a cap.' He looked back down at the patient's file, hair falling in front of his eyes.

'This only proves my point,' House said.

'What?'

'This,' House answered, pulling Chase's hair back again. 'You can't even read a file.'

'You're the only one having a problem with it,' Chase said, looking both amused and bewildered by House's persistence.

Chase had turned round to face House fully, head tilted up to look at him. House framed his face, pushing the hair back carefully. He looked down at the slight smile Chase was wearing. Gently, and without letting go of the bangs, he brushed a kiss against the curve of Chase's lips. 'No problem,' he said, pulling his hands back.

When Chase leaned back down towards the file, his hair almost, but not quite, veiled the finger he reached to touch his lips.

* * *

He looked up, startled, 'Excuse me?'

* * *

_Three weeks ago_

This was the second patient in a week they looked like losing. He hadn't lost one in months, and now two at once. If he was superstitious he might have suspected divine retribution.

House looked over at Chase, whose blond head was bent over a book. Chase probably believed in divine retribution. Lapsed Catholics tended to think that God could punish them long after they lost the belief that he would answer their prayers. As if he suspected he was being observed, Chase hid his yawn, badly, behind his hand. The yawn was as contagious as any virus, and House watched Cameron and Foreman respond in kind.

House tried to stand, his leg protesting vigorously. That was another piece of fun to factor into his week. The Vicodin was just barely taking the edge off at the moment. He misjudged the step, and grasped the desk to balance himself, swearing as inventively as he could manage through gritted teeth.

Chase was looking up now, concern quickly masked by professional curiosity. 'Vicodin not kicked in?'

'Well, it's only been an hour, Chase, I wouldn't like to say,' he said, 'After all, it hasn't had any more effect than an aspirin for the past week, but this might just be the hour that the pills magically figure out how to re-grow the muscles in my leg and we can all go dancing.'

'Just asking,' he said, looking back at his book. He yawned again, and darted one more troubled look at House.

'Okay, go home,' House said definitely.

All three of his fellows looked at him in shock.

'I'm tired,' House said,

'But...' Cameron waved the patient's file at him.

'Do any of you genuinely believe that the answer is going to jump from those books into your heads when you fall asleep on them? No? Then you might as well sleep in bed. If we're lucky, when we come back tomorrow she'll have developed a new symptom, or she'll be dead. Either way – easier to deal with.'

It was a sign of how tired Cameron was that she barely looked upset at that remark.

'Chase,' House said.

'Yeah?'

'Come here.'

Chase walked up to him, looking confused. He didn't bother to answer the question in the blue eyes, just placed his hand on Chase's shoulder and gripped hard. 'Aim towards the car park.'

'What?'

'Do you have some particular desire to come in tomorrow morning and find me in a twisted heap outside the office?'

'No?'

'That wasn't the most convincing denial of a desire for my death I've ever heard. Not the _least_ either, I'll grant, but still.'

'You want...'

'Think of it as giving balance a hand.'

Chase's head turned so quickly it was a miracle he didn't pull them both over. He gave House a questioning look, as if the reference might have been accidental. Then, ignoring Cameron's astonishment and Foreman's curiosity, he helped House walk out of the office.

* * *

'It's late. We can't do anything else until the tests are back.'

'That would explain why I should go home. Why should I go home with you?'

* * *

_Three and a half weeks ago_

'Don't you ever get tired?' Chase asked, a sting in the question that was almost annoyance.

'Of being right? Never.'

'Of...' Chase made a gesture that was probably meant to encompass House and all the inexplicable things about him, but ended up just looking vaguely lewd. House wasn't entirely sure whether that was an after-effect of having slept with Chase and therefore just in his mind, or whether Chase's subconscious was putting out without his realising.

He refocused. 'Yes, that was explanatory, Dr. Chase, thank you.'

'You know what I mean.'

'Unfortunately my psychic powers are acting up today, come back tomorrow.'

'You never let anyone get...'

'Yours, however, seem to be fine, because you're clearly channelling Cameron. Or possibly my mother. Which is actually scarier.'

'See!' he said, and at least that was different. Cameron generally didn't tend to yelp like that.

'See what?' House asked.

'You do one nice thing, and then you spend the next three weeks trying to make sure everyone knows you didn't mean it!'

'I'll have you know I've done more than one nice thing for you. It must be at least five.'

'And I'm sure you've put in the four months undoing it!'

He just looked at Chase. 'Three weeks by five things is fifteen weeks. That's only three months and three weeks. Also, I'm pretty sure I did my first _nice thing_ more than four months ago.'

Chase looked vaguely stricken. 'That's not what I meant. I mean... you _know_ I appreciate what you did. More than that. But if you would just...

'Just what?' House asked, still bothered by the comment in a distant kind of way.

'Balance,' Chase said. 'I remember what you said after he... but sometimes balance needs help. What you said is only true if you actually let me... Today we lost a patient, which is obviously bothering you, but you're just making _jokes_ about the autopsy proving you right. Can you just let me _pretend_ that maybe I can help you too?'

'You want me to cry on your shoulder?'

'You even managed to drive Wilson off,' Chase said.

'And obviously I should be upset about that too? According to your little theory.'

'Forget it,' Chase muttered, stalking out of the office.

* * *

'It's been three months since he was here.'

'This is true. And?'

* * *

_Four weeks ago_

'Wilson told me he's speaking at the trial.'

'Yeah.'

'I could have done that.'

Chase looked surprised. 'I know. You would have complained the whole time, but I know you would have done it.'

'Is this part of your whole "this isn't healthy for either of us" kick?'

Chase shrugged awkwardly, and put his hands in his pocket.

'Are you going to quit?'

Looking over sharply, Chase asked, 'Do you want me to?'

'If I wanted you gone, I'd fire you. No one's forcing me to keep you this time.'

'Yeah, but torturing me into quitting would be more fun.'

House nodded, conceding the point. 'Probably. But that's not what we're doing today. So I ask again: are you going to quit? Since we can't seem to work together. Which bothers you more, Chase – that we slept together, or that you have to work with me?'

Chase leaned against the wall, and looked over to meet House's eyes. He smiled ruefully. 'Difficult as this will be for you to believe, wrong on both counts. I started the first one. And the second part... I don't care that you own me.'

'I didn't say that,' House retorted.

'You have before.'

'_You_ shouldn't,' House said, not bothering to explain why the language bothered him on Chase's tongue.

'I told you – I don't care. You own me, Cameron, _and_ Foreman.' He grinned teasingly, 'And Wilson owns _you_.'

House sputtered. 'Wilson doesn't _own _me! Where do you get these... I don't work for him!'

'No, you work for Dr. Cuddy, and you don't do anything she says.'

'I don't do anything Wilson says either.'

'You started taking cases again because he asked you. We hadn't done anything for months before he made you do it.'

'He didn't _make_ me do anything. I was bored. Or he tricked me, I can't remember. And even if it was because he asked, one incident doesn't prove anything. Or have we started diagnosing all headaches as inoperable cancer of the brain without me noticing?'

'He makes you feel guilty,' Chase said. 'There isn't anyone else's job you would even have thought about making that speech to save.'

'I didn't make the speech,' House said defiantly.

'But you felt bad about it. It's like...'

'You and Vogler,' House filled in.

'Yeah,' Chase answered uncomfortably. 'Something like that anyway.'

'Do you want me to point out the flaws in that argument, or am I just supposed to accept it?'

'Of course, you were doing it in a desire to protect your integrity, and I was just saving my job,' Chase said sarcastically.

'Are you trying to tell me that _your _actions were motivated by something other than self-interest? It's not an accusation, Chase - everyone and everything is selfish. What makes humans so fascinating is that we try to _hide_ it.'

Chase folded his arms in front of his chest uncomfortably. 'I couldn't rely on you to save my job, so I went to someone else.'

There was something familiar in the way Chase said that. Something reminiscent of another conversation they'd had in this office. _"__I loved him until I figured out it hurts a lot less to just not care."_ No expectations, no disappointments. He hadn't believed Chase then either.

'I can't decide whether it was a pre-emptive strike, or yet more evidence of your masochism,' he said thoughtfully, trying to provoke a response. 'Did you think I was going to fire you, or did you know that I couldn't fire you after that because torturing you was more interesting?'

'Do you _ever_ have a normal conversation?' Chase asked in exasperation. 'One where you don't dive into the other person's psyche? Maybe about the weather. Or sports.'

'Only with very boring people,' he replied, and if Chase couldn't take that as a compliment, then they really wouldn't work out.

Chase sighed and left the office, but he seemed more resigned than angry or confused.

* * *

'And what?'

'You think this means everything's all better now?'

* * *

_Two months ago_

'Are we going to be done anytime soon?' Chase asked.

'Why?' House answered suspiciously. 'Hot date?' He looked at Chase properly for the first time that day, and took in the subtly matching clothes. 'You're kidding, right?'

'What?'

'You have a date.'

Foreman and Cameron were watching them now, with matching looks of concern.

'I have a date,' Chase agreed. 'He's three inches shorter than me, a nurse, and I'm carrying a panic button and pepper spray, but other than that, it's a perfectly normal date.'

'You're dating a male nurse?'

Chase shook his head wearily as House ran into a rant on how people brought stereotypes on themselves.

He only finished when the shift did, and he finally allowed them to leave. On the way out the door, Chase turned to look at him. 'My cell phone's on.'

He was tempted, briefly, to ask why Chase thought he should know that, but chose simply to answer, 'Mine too.'

* * *

'No, I don't. But things are _getting_ better.'

'So this is an anniversary celebration. Three months on the wagon?'

'No.'

* * *

_Three months ago_

Chase looked at the hand held down to him, and tried to push himself up without it. At House's look, he explained himself. 'I don't want to pull you down with me.'

House thought about that for a moment, and then waved his hand at Chase again. 'You won't.'

'How do you...'

'Basic biology. It's easier to help someone else up than push yourself up. You don't pull me over now, I won't pull you over on the way to get that ankle looked at.'

'I don't think that's how it works. It's about balance.'

'Balance can work itself out.'

Chase nodded, accepting the almost-reassurance. He took House's hand.

* * *

_Now_

'So what is it?'

'Today was nothing special. Nothing happened.'

'Well, we saved a few lives, but maybe that's all in a day's work for you now.'

'I didn't mean that. Nothing happened. No... no traumas, no police, no bruises... no _reason_ for it to happen today.'

'And because there's no particular reason for me to say yes, you thought it was a good time to ask?'

Chase smiled nervously, and repeated himself, 'Come home with me.'

House pondered that logic. It was, as usual with Chase, a mixture of elegant simplicity and an utter refusal to do things the easy way. Now, why did that seem familiar? He offered a lopsided smile, and stood up. 'Well then, since you asked so nicely...'

* * *

FIN: All done! Thanks again to my lovely beta parkermonster, who made this last chapter (hopefully) make much more sense here than in its first draft. Feedback, as ever, is wonderful to receive. 


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